


Fairytale of New York

by kjack89



Series: Twelve Days of Christmas Giveaway Fics [10]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Christmas, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Ireland, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 11:30:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras and Grantaire take a trip to Ireland, but Grantaire can't help comparing it to the previous Christmas, when they finally got together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fairytale of New York

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shelny18](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shelny18/gifts).



> Usual disclaimer applies as always.

Grantaire leaned his cheek against the window of the cab and heaved a sigh, not bothering to look over at Enjolras, who had already exchanged the SIM card in his cellphone for one he could use in Ireland and was flipping through his emails. It was over fifty degrees outside (“12 degrees” the cabbie had told them cheerfully, which had taken Grantaire a long moment to convert from celsius to fahrenheit) with a steady drizzle, and Grantaire couldn’t help but miss the chill of New York, people hustling to and from buildings with scarves and hats pulled low over their ears. Here, it hardly even felt like Christmas.

Well, it hardly felt like Christmas for a lot of reasons, only one of which was the weather.

He  _should_  be happy, ecstatic even, being in Ireland with just Enjolras, none of their friends there to pop into their apartment at odd hours of the day and interrupting them mid…whatever. But the truth was that they hadn’t even been doing that for awhile now. Enjolras was rarely if ever home, it seemed, and while Grantaire tried not to mind, knowing that the work Enjolras did was important, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing for the kind of casual intimacy they had once enjoyed.

And while at one point Grantaire had been looking forward to this trip for that very reason, to rekindle what had slipped away over the last year, it didn’t seem likely to happen, in which case…well, what was even the point of him being here?

Enjolras glanced over at him and opened his mouth as if to say something, but then the cab pulled up in front of the hotel, and whatever Enjolras was going to say was lost as they tumbled out of the cab and into the hotel. They got checked in and then up to their rooms, but Grantaire hadn’t even finished unpacking his clothes and Enjolras already had his laptop out, settled on his bed and typing away furiously at whatever email he was probably sending to Combeferre.

Grantaire slammed the dresser drawer shut with perhaps more force than necessary and asked Enjolras, “Are you going to be working all day?”

“I don’t know,” Enjolras responded without looking up. “I’ve got notes to go over for my meeting with IIEA tomorrow, and then a load of work emails and such to sort through. Plus Combeferre’s sent me a bunch of articles that need to be read, so…”

He trailed off, but Grantaire had already nodded, his expression stony. “Right,” he said curtly, grabbing his hoodie and tugging it on. “So I guess I’ll be exploring Dublin on my own. Great. Fantastic. Merry Christmas to me.”

If Enjolras had picked up on Grantaire’s mood at all, he made no mention of it, still staring at his computer screen, and Grantaire slumped over to the door, hesitating only for a moment before telling Enjolras, his tone strained, “I love you.”

Enjolras just waved at him without looking up, and this time Grantaire slammed the door behind him with as much force as he could muster.

He honestly didn’t even know why it bothered him, why he had somehow expected everything to be different. Maybe it was because it  _had_  been different, originally, last year when they had first gotten together, when they had celebrated their first Christmas together. And as he pushed his way through the crowds of tourists on Grafton Street, he couldn’t help but think about last Christmas, when things between them had been so very, very different…

* * *

 

Les Amis were gathered in the Musain on Christmas Eve 2012, all in varying stages of drunk or at least drinking — even Enjolras, who actually had Christmas Eve and Christmas Day off from work — and all were wearing ugly Christmas sweaters. The bar was having its annual ugly Christmas sweater contest, after all, and so they were all goodnaturedly participating, even if they all knew Jehan was going to win (his sweater had the world’s ugliest cat wearing a Santa hat with a real jingle bell and giant googly eyes).

Grantaire laughed loudly at the joke Bossuet was telling and drained his drink. “I’m going out for a smoke,” he announced loudly, not even glancing at Joly as he added, “Don’t start with me, Jolllly, it’s Christmas. I’ll try quitting for New Year’s.”

Enjolras stood as well. “I’ll come with you,” he volunteered. “I could use some fresh air myself.”

If anyone thought that this was odd — and  _everyone_  thought this was odd - they at least had the good sense to keep it to themselves, turning back to their conversations as Enjolras smiled a little hesitantly at Grantaire and followed him outside. The moment they were outside the bar, though, Enjolras had grabbed Grantaire’s hand and dragged him into the alley, pushing him against the wall and kissing him soundly.

Grantaire laughed against his mouth, his fingers automatically curling into Enjolras’s hair, and he said, a little wryly and very breathlessly, “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

“Oh really?” Enjolras murmured, kissing Grantaire again, a gentler, almost sweet kiss. “Because I think you’re enjoying this as much as I am.”

Laughing again, Grantaire tugged Enjolras closer to him by the lapels of his pea coat and kissed him. “Be that as it may, it’s fucking cold out here, and there is a perfectly good bar where we could be doing this right next to us. Or, hell, we could just go back to your apartment. Or even mine, which is closer.”

Enjolras smiled, but there was something serious in his expression. “You want to go back in?” he asked, cautiously. “Because I thought…I thought you didn’t want people to know about this.”

Grantaire’s smile faded into something serious as well, and he pushed Enjolras away just slightly, though his hands retained their firm grip on Enjolras’s lapels. “It’s not that I don’t want people to know about this,” he said, his tone slightly hesitant. “It’s just…I mean, do we even know what  _this_ is?”

They both looked at each other for a long moment as they thought it over. They hadn’t quite been dating, and they hadn’t quite just been sleeping together. It was more than that, on so many levels. But where Grantaire would have agreed to whatever Enjolras wanted this to be, Enjolras had been hesitant to give it any sort of name or definition. Which Grantaire really should have expected, since it wasn’t like their leader to rush into things…well, pretty much ever. So they had their little clandestine hookups and alleyway makeouts, and Grantaire was content with that, really.

But now, with Enjolras looking at him like that, Grantaire wanted to hold his hand and dance down the streets of New York so that everyone knew that he was his.

As if following Grantaire’s train of thought, Enjolras reached out to tuck one of Grantaire’s dark curls behind his ear, his hand lingering against Grantaire’s cheek, and when he leaned in to kiss him, it was the sweetest, gentlest kiss yet. And then he reached down to lace his fingers with Grantaire’s, tugging him back towards the bar. “Come on,” he said, his cheeks flushed, though whether with excitement or the cold, Grantaire didn’t know. “I’ve got an idea.”

He led Grantaire back into the bar, and once they were inside, Grantaire reluctantly dropped Enjolras’s hand. Enjolras, however, just closed his hand around Grantaire’s wrist and dragged him over to the bar, where he had a whispered conversation with the bartender, who looked more amused than anything, but nodded in acquiescence at whatever Enjolras had told her.

A moment later, just when Grantaire was about to ask what in the hell Enjolras was going, the strains of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” started playing over the speakers, and Enjolras turned back to Grantaire, holding his hand out with a smile on his face. “May I have this dance?”

There were a million things Grantaire could have said in protest to that question, the least of which being that the Musain was hardly the place for dancing, but instead, he swallowed his words and took Enjolras’s hand, letting him pull him close, wrapping his arms around his neck as they swayed slowly to the music.

Conversations paused as people turned to watch them, some bemused, some openly amused, and some uncertain. But neither Enjolras nor Grantaire paid them any attention, caught up in each other. “But what will our friends think?” Grantaire whispered, mock-scandalized as he smirked up at Enjolras.

Enjolras just shook his head and bent to kiss Grantaire. “Fuck if I know,” he muttered in between kisses. “Fuck if I care. Let them draw their own conclusions.” He pulled Grantaire closer. “Merry Christmas. I love you.”

Grantaire rested his head against Enjolras’s chest. “Merry Christmas,” he said softly, a wide grin spreading across his face. “I love you, too.” They were together. And nothing in the world could ever change how they were feeling in this moment.

* * *

 

As it turned out, apparently all it took was a year and Enjolras being buried up to his eyeballs in work for everything to change. Grantaire’s feelings hadn’t changed, at least, and he doubted they ever would. Everything in him, it seemed, his past, present and future had always seemed completely wrapped up in Enjolras. And for awhile, knowing that Enjolras loved him, that Enjolras cared for him, that Enjolras wanted him…that had been enough.

Now…well, now he wasn’t so sure.

He wandered dejectedly around St. Stephen’s Green for awhile, hands deep in his pockets, not really paying attention to anything. This was  _Ireland_ , a place he had wanted to visit since he was little. He should be  _excited_ , he should be  _overjoyed._  He shouldn’t feel like finding the nearest pub and drowning himself in as many pints of Murphy’s as he could drink.

Instead, he asked someone for directions and headed towards Merrion Square instead, figuring that he would find the statue of Oscar Wilde, take a stupid selfie with him and email the picture to Jehan, who would probably be incredibly jealous.

Though he found the park easily enough, as lost in his thoughts as he was, it took him a few minutes to find the statue. And when he did, he stopped in his tracks, because Enjolras was standing in front of the statue, almost as if he was waiting for him. “What are you doing here?” Grantaire asked, not caring if he sounded rude, but then he took a deep breath and asked in a more careful tone, “I thought you had a lot of work to do.”

“I do have a lot of work to do,” Enjolras said, cocking his head slightly as he looked at him. “But I found that I couldn’t really concentrate while thinking about my boyfriend wandering around Dublin without me, and probably pretty angry with me.”

Grantaire shrugged moodily. “And what, you just figured I’d show up at the Oscar Wilde statue eventually? Dublin’s a pretty big city, Enj.”

Enjolras nodded, examining Grantaire’s expression carefully. “Yeah, it is, but I know you promised Jehan you’d take a picture of yourself with Oscar Wilde, so I figured it was only a matter of time. Besides, you like Oscar Wilde as well.” He tore his eyes from Grantaire’s face to glance up at the statue. “You share a certain…wit.”

“I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment,” Grantaire said dryly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Well, you found me. Congratulations. Now you can go back to your work.”

Something in Enjolras’s expression flickered, and he sighed and held out his hand. “Come here,” he commanded, his voice soft, and when Grantaire hesitated, he repeated, “Come here.” Grantaire slowly crossed over to him, and Enjolras carefully enfolded him in his arms, pulling him close. Grantaire’s breath hitched as he rested his head against Enjolras’s chest, the feeling at once achingly familiar and painfully forgotten. “I’m sorry,” Enjolras told him, his voice soft and a little strained. “I know things have been crazy these past few months. I know that you didn’t sign up for this when you agreed to date me. And I’m sorry for that.”

Closing his eyes, Grantaire murmured, his voice muffled against Enjolras’s shirt, “I’m sorry, too. I know you’ve been busy and I’ve been trying not to take it out on you, but…sometimes it feels like you don’t even love me anymore.”

Enjolras was quiet for so long that Grantaire pulled away in order to look up at him, surprised at the fierce look on his face. “I love you,” Enjolras told him, his voice sharp, commanding, and full of righteous fervor that was normally reserved for his speeches. “That hasn’t changed. That  _won’t_ change. And I am so,  _so_  sorry to make you feel that way.”

“It’s not your fault,” Grantaire said automatically, but Enjolras shook his head, eyes sharp.

“It  _is_  my fault,” Enjolras snapped, pausing to take a deep breath. When he continued, his tone was gentler. “It  _is_  my fault. And I’m going to try to change it, I promise. I…” He trailed off, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’ve been thinking about last Christmas.”

Grantaire smiled crookedly at him. “So have I,” he admitted. “It was…well, it was kind of perfect, wasn’t it?”

Enjolras nodded and reached out to cup Grantaire’s cheek with his hand. “But this Christmas is going to be good, too,” he told Grantaire. “I promise. Once my meeting if done with tomorrow, I’m all yours. And we will have ourselves a wonderful Christmas in Ireland, and I’ll even let you drag me to the Guinness Storehouse and Jameson Distillery.”

Though Grantaire smiled a little at that, his expression was still guarded. “But what about after Christmas?” he asked. “What about when we go back to the States? What about when you get buried in work again?”

Enjolras frowned, but his expression was contemplative. “Well,” he said, carefully. “New Year’s is coming up as well. And I guess I’ll need to make a resolution to not always put my work first.”

Grantaire shook his head, because even though that’s what he wanted, more than anything, it just…it didn’t feel right. “I can’t ask you to choose between your work and me,” he said, a little desperately.

“And you’re not,” Enjolras told him, reaching out to pull him close again. “You’re not asking me to choose. Because there isn’t a choice.” He sighed and kissed Grantaire’s forehead. “I love my work, you know that. And people need me, rely on the work that I do, so I’m hardly going to give it up. Not when it’s too important. But you know what else is important?” Grantaire shook his head but didn’t speak, and Enjolras tilted his chin up to kiss his lips lightly. “You’re important. And I’ve been taking you for granted.”

“Only because I let you,” Grantaire told him, though he managed a small smile.

Enjolras smiled as well, though he also rolled his eyes. “Yes, and we are going to have to have a conversation about you being able to put yourself first in our life together and not just letting me do what I want, but that conversation can wait for another time. For right now, I want to take my boyfriend’s picture with the Oscar Wilde statue and then walk with him through the streets of Dublin and down by the river Liffey and maybe pop into a pub for a quick drink because it  _is_  Christmas.”

Grantaire smiled a true smile at him at that. Their problems weren’t fully solved, and maybe it was only because it was Christmas, but he was starting to believe that maybe they were going to be ok. “Fine, that sounds like a deal to me,” Grantaire told him, pulling himself onto the rock that the statue was lounging on and grinning at Enjolras.

Enjolras pulled out his phone and held it up to take the picture, telling Grantaire, “Say Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas,” Grantaire repeated obediently, though he turned his head at the last second so that the picture was of him pressing a kiss to Oscar Wilde’s cheek.

Enjolras let out a disapproving huff and growled, “Grantaire…” but Grantaire just hopped off the rock and kissed him. Laughing slightly, Enjolras wrapped his arms around Grantaire and kissed him back. “Merry Christmas,” he told him.

Grantaire grabbed Enjolras hand and tugged him towards the park entrance. “Merry Christmas,” he told him as they walked. “And I love you.”

Enjolras kissed Grantaire’s cheek, still smiling at him and looking at him as if he was the only thing that mattered in the world. “I love you, too.”


End file.
